Predation
by callherinsane
Summary: Predation: A form of symbiotic relationship between two organisms of unlike species in which one of them acts as a predator to the other organism that serves as the prey. Hermione believes herself to be on the offense, but Malfoy begs to differ...
1. An Unsavoury Meeting

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Unfortunately.

**A/N:** Ello there readers. Thanks for checking out my story. Please review if you feel so inclined, it's always appreciated. Perhaps it will even inspire me to update sooner?

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Hermione stared bleakly out the train window, watching the verdant English country side roll past in a green blur. Sighing irritably, she discarded the muggle novel in her hands and tucked it into her knapsack, thinking gravely of the year ahead.

What was supposed to be the most memorable and treasured time of her Hogwarts career was quickly turning into a mere obligation. For Hermione, who loved school dearly and cherished her magical education even more, these feelings of dread were entirely out of character, and she found it surprising that she disliked the prospect of facing her seventh year so greatly.

Swinging her legs onto the plush seats of the bench and leaning her head against the compartment wall, Hermione closed her eyes. This was the first time she had ridden the train alone, without Ron and Harry. She had only been on the train for a half an hour, and their absences were already painfully obvious to her, the thickening silence practically deafening as she sat there alone in the compartment.

Once again, she found her thoughts drifting back to the last six months of her life, and the strange way the events unfurled before them. It was now very clear to the wizarding world that Voldemort was once again on the rise— she was certain no one would doubt Harry ever again. But by the time the ministry had come to their senses, things had already spiraled into chaos. Dumbledore had died by the hand of Severus Snape, but not before taking the Potions master down with him. Many suspected a few of the other Slytherin students of being involved in the tragic incident, but as these accusations could not be proven, Malfoy, Zabini, and many others were allowed to return for their seventh year.

Hermione had noticed upon boarding the Express that many muggleborn students she had grown accustomed to seeing over the past six years were nowhere in sight, and she wondered if perhaps this was because of the recent turn of events involving the deatheaters and their Lord.

Merlin, it was going to be a lonely year, trapped in the classrooms with those bigoted purebloods. She hated to admit it, but she was very frightened of facing the year without Harry and Ron. She was a tough girl, there was no doubt about it, but she had always felt safer knowing she had the boys there to back her up. She was suddenly overcome with a bitter resentment— how could they just _leave_ her? She was the bloody brains of their trio! How on earth were those dunces going to find the horocruxes without her? Her pride was badly damaged the last time they spoke, and she thought back to her last conversation with Harry, swallowing the bitter lump forming in her throat.

"_You know how dangerous it is, Hermione. We're just trying to do what's best," Harry explained, cautiously resting his hand on his friends shoulder. She shrugged his hand off, shaking with a dangerous, subdued rage. _

_She would not cry. "God, Harry! Stop worrying about my bloody safety all the time! I am just as capable as you two, and I have put just as much of myself into the cause as Ron! You NEED me!"_

"_I know we need you, and that's exactly why you have to stay here. We need your help with the research, and you can't bloody well do that running around the English countryside with hexes being thrown at you on a daily basis!" _

_Hermione clenched her fists tightly, her knuckles paling. She very much felt like smacking something at the moment. Preferably, Harry's head. "And how am I supposed to attend Charms class while my best friend is risking his life out there, Harry? How is this helping anything?! I can't just let you two risk your lives, while I sit twiddling my thumbs, waiting for you to come back. I'm not a damsel in distress, Harry! I can handle a wand!"_

"_I know you can. In a perfect world, we'd all be attending our seventh year. But things are different now," he sighed. "Please understand, Hermione. We need you at Hogwarts. We need you to continue your research there, where it's safe."_

_There was a long, formidable silence as Harry watched his friend bite her lower lip, a habit she exercised often when she was at a loss for words. "Alright," she muttered finally, swallowing her pride and ignoring the voice in the back of her mind that spoke of the injustice of it all. He was treating her like a child… Like a silly little girl! But she was tired of arguing about this with him, and deep down, the practical, sensible part of her knew that what Harry was saying was true— she would be of more use helping them from the school. She couldn't let her pride get in the way of sensibility. _

_And finally her eyes began to well with tears, and she lurched forward at him for a tight embrace. He staggered slightly from the sudden impact, but finally wrapped his arms around her. It would be a long time before they'd see each other again, and both knew it. "Write to me, Harry. Don't you dare forget."_

"_I'll write as often as I can," he promised. She knew he wouldn't have many chances, but she still selfishly hoped he'd find a way. "Hermione, I need you to promise me one more thing."_

"_What is it?" She asked, stepping back to wipe her face and regain her composure. When she looked back at him, his brow was knit tight, a look of genuine concern darkening his emerald eyes. _

"_I want you to keep an eye on the Slytherins… Especially Malfoy. I don't trust him. Keep your distance, and don't talk to him unless you have to, but watch him… The ministry might have turned a blind eye, but he's up to something…"_

"_Alright, Harry." She sniffed. Harry rested a heavy hand on her shoulder, and placed something in her arms. She looked down. It was a small grey parcel wrapped in twine, a small bit of parchment tucked beneath. "What's this?"_

"_The invisibility cloak and the marauder's map. You'll need them if you're going to be lurking about after hours," he replied. _

_Hermione shook her head, shoving it back into his hands. "Harry, I can't take this… You'll need it more wherever you're going. And besides, it's against school rules." She rationalized. _

"_Only you would be concerned with breaking school rules while spying on a deatheater," he joked. Then his smirk faded, and he grew serious once again. "He's not the schoolyard bully we met first year anymore.. He could be a deatheater. We can't afford to ignore the rumors."_

"_The Dark Lord would never recruit that cowardly ferret, Harry," she scoffed. Uncrossing her arms, she grudging took the parcel. "But I'll be careful. I promise."_

"_Ron left a note in there too, I think." He added, looking away guiltily. _

_She stiffened, her eyes growing hard. "Why isn't he giving this to me himself?" She watched as he shuffled his feet uncomfortably, his silence speaking for itself. "He's not coming, is he?" she asked finally. She suddenly recalled the night before, when Ron had been acting rather peculiar. She had known then that something was amiss._

"_He told me he had already said his goodbyes last night. He wanted me to give that to you."_

_Hermione scoffed. "How thoughtful of him," she replied sarcastically. _

"_Don't hold it against him."_

"_I won't," she sighed, her hands brushing over the crinkled parchment. She looked up finally, giving him a watery smile. "Be careful, Harry."_

_With a sheepish grin, he gave her one last hug. "You too." He stepped back, and with a loud pop, he was gone. She stood there for a few more seconds, staring blankly at the spot where her friend had been only moments before. She took a few deep breaths, released a shaky sigh before turning over the letter in her hands. She ran her thumb over the scarlet wax seal and contemplated opening it. No, she thought… She would open Ron's letter when the timing was right. _

Jarred from her trance-like thoughts by the sound of the slamming compartment door, Hermione immediately sat up to see who had entered. Ginny Weasley stood before her, the young girl giving her a small smile before taking a seat across. Her pale, milky complexion was splashed with freckles from the summer sun, and her coppery hair was even redder from all the flying she and Harry had done outdoors. With her willowy frame and saucy charm, it was no wonder Harry had fallen for the girl. Hermione wondered how Ginny was fairing with his absence, and felt grateful for her company at that moment.

"Those dipshits," Ginny muttered finally. "Merlin knows how they'll manage on their own." Hermione laughed, but there was still an air of somberness that enveloped them both. "So I heard my prat of a brother was too cowardly to give you a proper goodbye."

Hermione snorted. "He left me a note. I haven't bothered to read it yet."

"You should. Fred snuck a peek over his shoulder when he was writing it, and from what I hear, it's quite… informative," Ginny replied cryptically, pulling back her fiery hair into a messy bun.

"Well, I suppose I'll get 'round to it eventually," she sighed, gazing distractedly out the window. Turning back to the girl, she changed the subject. "Anyways, I'll be so busy with Headgirl duties this year that I won't have much time to write back. Speaking of which, we'll be having that meeting before we arrive at school, and I best get changed," she added a bit more cheerfully.

"Good luck with that," Ginny replied. "And Congratulations on making Headgirl by the way! Though I suppose it'll be less of a privilege sharing duties with that Malfoy git. I can't believe he managed to make Headboy this year,"

"Don't be silly, Justin Finch-Fletchley was made Headboy," Hermione replied incredulously. "As if the Headmistress would allow _Malfoy_ to take the position."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, surprised that she hadn't heard the news. "Didn't you hear? Justin's mother is sending him to that muggle school this year. Apparently she got her hands on a Daily Prophet. I reckon a lot of muggle-borns have left Hogwarts, what with you-know-who on the rise again."

Hermione paled visibly at this, her stomach lurching. She felt sick. Why had no one bothered to tell her this until now? "There has to be a mistake," Hermione announced finally, regaining some of her confidence. "Headmistress McGonagall would never give him the position."

Ginny bit her lip, her warm brown eyes looking at her with sympathy. "It's true. I saw the badge myself. He nearly blinded me with it while getting on the train, he's flashing it so much. He's already threatened to take housepoints from the younger students, and we're not even at Hogwarts yet."

"Everyone knows he's a deatheater!" She burst indignantly. "I actually WORKED for my position! I earned this, damn it!" Hermione's shouts were quite loud, but at this point she didn't even care. Her position as Headgirl had been the one thing she had been looking forward to that year, the one thing she had been planning to pour her soul into while her two best friends were off fighting evil without her. And that prat was going to take that away from her or find a way to spoil it! A bitter loathing rose within her, her eyes lit with fury as she sat there fuming.

Ginny eyed her cautiously, tilting her head to look into her face. "You alright?" When Hermione didn't respond, she continued, "Well, I wouldn't worry too much. I'm sure he's just as thrilled about you two working together as you are. Once you split up the duties I bet you'll hardly see one another."

Standing up suddenly, Hermione hardened her gaze. "I'm going to go talk to someone about this," she said finally, stepping out of the compartment and marching down the isle of the train before Ginny could stop her. Scanning each room as she stormed by, she finally spotted a flash of silver ducking into the compartment ahead, and with a surge of utter conviction, she flung the door open.

"Granger. What an unpleasant surprise," he drawled in his familiar monotonous tone. He sat leaning against the wall, a bored expression fixed over his pale features. His mercurial silver gaze was fixed steadily upon her, eying her up and down as if assessing her. He looked away dismissively, unimpressed. "Still the ugly little mudblood I remember. You look positively uncivilized," he sneered.

"And you're still the same pretentious bigot," Hermione scathed, crossing her arms in the doorway. "I just wanted to let you know that you might scare a few first year Hufflepuffs, but you won't be pushing me around this year. I plan to keep my position, and I won't let you, or anyone else, compromise it in anyway. And when the prefects meeting begins, you will let me do all the talking. Your dirty money might have bought you the title, but I want this to be perfectly clear to you Malfoy— I EARNED my position, and I won't let you ruin this for me." she finished spitefully.

Malfoy was towering above her seconds later, staring down at her coldly. At 5'4, Hermione barely reached his chin, but she did not back down. Her stony expression and confidence easily added a metaphorical foot to her height. He gave her a hard shove, making her stumble back into the door.

"Don't act so high and mighty, you little mudblood bitch," he snarled under his breath. Her confidence flickered a bit, but she continued to look him straight in the eye. "You think you can show your ugly muggle face in here and insult me whenever you please? You're awfully brave without Potty and Weasel tailing your arse every second." A cruel grin played upon his features then. "And where are they, Granger? Stop spreading your legs for them? They start looking for a quick fuck elsewhere? You probably begged them to take you with them. I bet you—"

Her hand came from nowhere, leaving a stinging red outline against the paleness of his skin. "How dare you!" She screeched, her tone edging on hysterical.

Malfoy was dangerously quiet before he finally spoke. "I let you get away with that third year, Granger, but I'll be getting you back for that one."

She could feel his hot breath hit her cheek as he continued to glower down at her furiously. It was then she suddenly realized they were alone, his Slytherin posse nowhere to be seen. They were only inches apart, when Malfoy suddenly slammed his fist against the wall behind her, making her flinch slightly. Her reaction quelled his temper a bit, and he smirked, watching her mask of bravado flicker.

He leaned in closer, and she couldn't help but flinch slightly. She turned her face away uncomfortably as he whispered each word callously into her ear. "And for Merlin's sake, take off that hideous muggle clothing." And before Hermione could catch her footing, he threw open the compartment door she was leaning against, making her fall to the ground in a heap. "Your muggle heritage isn't something to be proud of. Put on some bloody robes, you'll be an embarrassment to the entire school," he finished coldly, slamming the compartment before she could manage to summon a witty quip in her defense.

She flushed a deep scarlet, both from fury and humiliation. Pulling herself back onto her feet, Hermione looked around her. From the looks of it, no one had witnessed their little confrontation. She stood inches away from the door for a few moments, silently seething. She would get him back, she convinced herself. Spinning around sharply, she marched back to her own compartment, swarmed with thoughts of revenge.

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Hermione continued to stab her piece of turkey, pushing her food around her plate as she glowered sulkily at the Slytherin table. She had always enjoyed the sorting feast, but her earlier conversation with Malfoy had managed to ruin her appetite every time it resurfaced in her mind. Even staring at him right now as he sat there laughing with his fellow housemates made her stomach queasy. The bastard.

"The turkey's already dead, Hermione. No need to stab at it," Dean joked through mouthfuls of treacle tart. His alarmingly horrid table manners reminded her of Ron, and she thought briefly of the letter from him she had yet to open. She brushed her hand over the pocket of her robes where she had tucked it earlier, and decided she would open it that night in her dormitory.

She gave Dean a small smile, and took a timid bite of her mashed potatoes. "Just a bit queasy from the train ride over, I suppose," she replied.

Ginny, who sat across from her, looked at her knowingly. "Don't let him get to you, Hermione. He's not worth it."

Taking her friend's advice, Hermione joined in on some of the conversation around the Gryffindor table, listening halfheartedly to what was supposed to be a humorous anecdote about Dean's summer in muggle America. She tried to sound enthusiastic as he continued, but couldn't help but drift back into her private thoughts.

She suddenly remembered what Harry had asked of her before he disembarked, and realized that her earlier confrontation with Malfoy completely disregarded everything she promised. Instead of watching Malfoy discretely from afar and staying invisible, she had gained his attention quite effectively. Although this was entirely counterproductive to her original intention, she tried to think on the bright side.

When she had first discovered that Malfoy had been given the position of Headboy, Hermione had been disgruntled to say the least— but as she gave this prospect a second thought, she realized that this could be used to her advantage. Both Headgirl and Headboy had their own private quarters, with an adjoining common room in between. While this would be inconvenient in some ways, it would also allow her to keep a closer eye on Malfoy and his doings. She supposed that his promotion as Headboy was really a blessing in disguise, though she still felt a bit victimized by the universe at the circumstances.

Lost in thought, Hermione once again found herself staring fixedly at Malfoy. He was drinking deeply from his goblet, glancing at Pansy Parkinson every so often as she gabbed adamantly about Merlin knows what. As if he had suddenly sensed her eyes upon him, he looked up from his plate, staring straight at her with a stony expression. She quickly turned to her right, hoping that she looked deeply involved in the Gryffindor conversation.

"—And then me mum took one look at the cellphone contraption and said, 'My god, Seamus! What in Merlin's name are you doing with a muggle sextoy?!'"

The whole table burst into side-splitting laughter. Hermione giggled along with them, and looked up again across the room. Her cinnamon brown eyes clashed with his steely gaze, sparking a strange sort of electricity in the air. His stare emitted a frigid sort of cold, making her shudder as though a chill had suddenly enveloped the hall. She gave him one last look of disdain before turning away, trying to look like she was enjoying herself as she chatted away with her friends.

"Malfoy's staring at you," Ginny whispered suddenly, looking at her inquisitively. "What happened between you two on the train, anyways?"

Hermione stared down at her plate, her turkey now torn into an unrecognizable pile of mush from her nervous fidgeting. She refused to look over at him again, and retained her pleasant smile as she turned back to her friend. "Oh, nothing really. I just told him how it was going to be between us from now on," she replied vaguely.

"Well, whatever you said must have really pissed him off," she commented, taking a generous bite of her dessert.

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Draco Malfoy was incredibly pissed off.

It wasn't as though he hadn't expected the silly mudblood bint to get her knickers in a twist when he became Headboy, he knew she would, but her accusations had managed to infuriate him nonetheless. He continued to watch her coldly with a furrowed brow, clenching his utensils with an unnecessary amount of strength.

Everything about her made him livid. Her stupid bushy hair, her shrill, pretentious tone when she spoke to him, the infuriating way she managed to outdo him in every single class— hell, even the way she ate pissed him off.

He watched disgustedly as she picked at her food and smiled generously at one of her male housemates. The bloke was obviously trying to impress her, but her replies seemed halfhearted as she gazed elsewhere around the Great Hall. He wondered if the male Gryffindor would be replacing Potty and the Weasel as her bodyguard that year, and what their relationship might be. He couldn't imagine any relatively sane bloke wanting to actually shag the mudblood, and the idea of her and Weasley going at it was vile enough to make his already pallid complexion a shade even whiter.

He continued to observe her. It wasn't as though she was entirely unattractive, he reasoned. If she learned some basic grooming skills and tamed that wild animal atop her head every once in awhile, he supposed she would prove somewhat presentable. Not gorgeous, of course, she would never attain the subtle, poised beauty of a pureblood witch, but she might pass as acceptable if she actually _tried_ to look decent.

Yes, he thought, she wasn't disastrously horrid looking. He recalled her doe-eyed gaze from earlier on the train ride, her warm, honey-brown eyes wide with surprise when he had shoved her. Her cheeks had been tinged scarlet from her fury, giving her an attractive sort of glow when she had looked at him defiantly. His eyes had lowered briefly to her muggle attire, the jeans and simple v-neck hugging her curves in all the right places. He had never hated her, or himself, as much as that moment, when he had briefly found her attractive. He had sneered at her as she wriggled uncomfortably under his gaze, and thought of a million ways he could humiliate her, punish her for patronizing him and for instilling that brief moment of lust. It was unnatural and grotesque that a person of his blood status had even thought of her as remotely feminine. She was a mudblood, and no beauty potion or charm in the world could ever change that.

Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she looked over at him, meeting his stare head on. He felt like killing her, right there and then. Stupid mudlblood bitch, how dare she stare at him so unabashedly! She wasn't even fit to lick the bottom of his shoe, and there she was, alternating from staring at him and chatting with that Gryffindor bloke.

He looked away finally, turning his thoughts to more important matters. It would be easy enough to ignore her. A mudblood wasn't worth fretting over. He had more important things to concern himself with, and as long as Granger didn't stick her nose where it didn't belong, he would have no need to deal with her. Hopefully, she knew her place.

..:..:..:..


	2. The Thoughts That Linger

**Disclaimer**: Characters, setting, etc. all belong to JK Rowling. I merely play with them.

**A/N**: A big kiss and thank you to all who reviewed. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside now. Also, a quick **Warning: **This chapter is a bit explicit/smutty towards the end, so please don't read if this sort of thing bothers you! Thanks again!

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Hermione entered through a magnificent stone archway and up the stairs, standing in complete and utter awe at the sight before her. Her new room was stunning, elegant without being extravagant. The walls were a dusky red with crème trimming that blended well with the sophisticated, polished mahogany flooring. In the center of the room consuming most of the space was a four-poster bed decked in silky red sheets, delicately embroidered with flecks of gold. To her right, she saw a large looking-glass above an accommodating dresser, and she was pleased to find that her bags were stacked in a neat pile at the foot of her closet.

After squealing and jumping around her new living quarters for nearly five minutes, Hermione walked towards the tall, ornate window to her right, pushing away the thick velvet curtains obstructing her view. It was breathtaking. The moon had a dazzling opalescent sheen, its light shimmering against the obsidian waters of the lake.

She turned and walked towards her bathroom, twisting the doorknob and peeking her head through the entrance. A large claw bathtub and shelves of different toiletries and oils were found inside, along with an ornately detailed sink and toilet. Even bigger than the one in her bedroom, the mirror resting above the faucet took up at least half the wall.

Elated and feeling completely spoiled, Hermione decided to take a soak in her new bath, feeling luxurious as she poured the flowery oils into the churning water. She shimmied out of her clothing and slowly lowered herself into the bathtub, her muscles tensing and then going limp. She moaned. She could definitely get used to this.

Hermione was massaging her scalp and ringing her hair dry with a towel when she noticed Ron's letter tangled in the clothes pooled on her bathroom floor. Shrugging on a fluffy bathrobe, she picked it up and sat down on her bed.

She looked hard at it for a good minute or two before scolding herself. She was being ridiculous! The letter wasn't going to bite her, for Merlin's sake! Still… She was scared to find out what the envelope contained within. Hermione thought back to her last encounter with Ron, and its unexpected turn of events.

..:..:..:..

_Ron and Hermione were sitting side by side at the foot of his bed. His room was different than she had remembered. Although the walls were still plastered with Chuddly Cannon posters and his floor was still littered with chocolate frog cards, overall his bedroom looked more… mature. _

_Of course, that only made sense, Hermione thought to herself as she looked over at Ron. He had matured a lot this last summer. Long gone was the lanky, disproportionate, clumsy boy of thirteen— he had grown into himself, and grown out of his awkwardness. He was tall and lean, well built without being stocky. He had also finally caught up with his hands and feet. Although his looks were unconventional, he was still handsome nonetheless, with his tussled auburn hair and his—_

_It was then Hermione realized she had been staring, and Ron had certainly noticed. He looked at her quizzically for a moment, and then grinned. She flushed, her heart pounding intolerably fast. What in the bloody hell was wrong with her?! It was Ron she was talking to for Merlin's sake! _

"_Harry will prolly be here soon," he noted absentmindedly. _

"_Oh right. It'll be good to see him again."_

"_Yeah."_

_The silence in his room was overwhelming, almost suffocating it seemed, but she couldn't think of anything to say. Sometimes Hermione wondered if the only reason her and Ron were friends was because of Harry. He had always acted as the link between them, and she was glad he would be arriving soon. Hopefully he'd lesson the awkwardness that seemed to have built between her and Ron. _

_Ron cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence. "You're unusually quiet. Something on your mind?."_

"_Just thinking, I guess," she laughed nervously. And then the silence settled over them again, and she began fidgeting with her clothing. Harry had better get there soon, she thought. _

"_You wore your hair down," he said suddenly, looking intently at her wild brown curls. Hermione flushed at this, having always been slightly insecure about this particular feature of hers. It was utterly unmanageable, and lately she had taken to wearing it in plaits to tone it down a bit. _

_She touched the dark strands uneasily, tucking a piece behind her ears as she replied, "It's too much work dealing with it sometimes. I'll probably put it up again later."_

"_No!" he objected loudly. "I mean… I like it when you wear it down. It's nice," he added quieter. He reached out his hand slowly, and she froze in place. He touched a stray curl framing her face and looked intently into her eyes, his dark blue orbs searching her face for something. _

_Her eyes went wide at this sudden contact. He was leaning in closer, moving painfully slow. Ron was going to kiss her, she realized suddenly, and she was going to let him. She found herself closing the distance between them, her eyelashes fluttering shut and her pink lips parting slightly as she felt his cool breath hit her face. Their lips met cautiously, brushing against one another so softly that she wondered if she had imagined it. _

_The slamming of a door could be heard from downstairs, and she felt Ron's weight shift from the bed as he turned away abruptly. Still dazed from the previous moment, she stared at his turned back and absentmindedly touched her lips. _

"_Harry's here," he said with a strange tone, standing up and heading towards the door. And then he walked out of the room, leaving a very confused Hermione sitting alone on the bed, staring after him. _

She hadn't spoken to him once since that ordeal. She had wanted to, of course, but she couldn't bear the awkwardness that was sure to accompany the follow-up conversation. And so here she sat with a mysterious letter from that very same boy resting in her hands, and she couldn't even bring herself to open it.

What if he said he had feelings for her? What if he said the whole thing was a complete mistake? Hermione wasn't sure which verdict she was hoping for. She wasn't sure of anything when it came to Ronald Weasley.

Crookshanks leapt onto her bed, snuggling into the crook of her arm. He could always tell when something was troubling her. "What do _you _think I should do?" She asked him, stroking his ginger pelt.

Purring in pleasure, he flicked his tail in response. She interpreted this as a suggestion to put it off awhile longer.

Whatever it contained, it would distract her from her duties, and she was better off reading it at a time when she could give it the attention it needed. Although she liked to think her decision reasonable, she knew that she was being a coward—a trait she couldn't stand. Where was her Gryffindor courage?

With a grunt of frustration, Hermione tucked the letter back into her robes, and sank into the luxurious bedding. She fidgeted for about fifteen minutes, thinking about Harry and Ron and how they were fairing, before realizing sleep was pointless and wouldn't come anytime soon. Flicking her wand into a Lumos, she pulled Harry's grey parcel from her knapsack and tugged it apart. The silky, translucent material of the invisibility cloak slipped between her fingers like water as she set it on the bed. She turned the Marauder's map over in her hands before whispering the magic words, and a dark ink spread over the parchment, tracing the lines of the school and its residents.

Scanning its contents, she found what she was looking for instantaneously. Malfoy was walking across the Hogwarts grounds, straddling the line that represented the border marking the beginning of the forbidden forest.

_What in Merlin's name was he doing there_, Hermione wondered to herself. Patrols hadn't even been written up yet— the two of them were supposed to meet the Headmistress to draw out the patrols tomorrow evening. Surely, he was up to no good.

Hermione eyed the map closer, taking note of his exact location. He was unmoving now, about a quarter of a mile into the forest. She contemplated following him for a moment, before deciding that it was smarter to play it low. She would check out the forest tomorrow and look for any clues he might have left. This specific spot had been chosen for a reason, that was for sure— only an idiot would choose to venture into the forest at night for a simple midnight stroll. He was likely to return another time, and she would keep close tabs on him until then.

She thought briefly back to their unsavory meeting on the train and broke out in a flush. The nerve of him! His childish name-calling didn't bother her as much as the foul things he accused her and the boys of doing.

"_I let you get away with that third year, Granger, but I'll be getting you back for that one."_

Malfoy's voice had been slick with a cold malice after she had lost her temper and slapped him, and she couldn't help but shudder slightly as she remembered the vindication of his words.

She scoffed. Malfoy was a sick, pretentious git, and he deserved a lot worse than the quick swat she had given him. She was glad she had stood up to the bully—because that's all he would ever amount to: a schoolyard bully. Harry and Ronald might have had their suspicions, but she was sure the smarmy little ferret was nothing more than a spineless coward who enjoyed psychologically torturing the weak.

No, Hermione thought, she was not afraid of him, nor his half-hearted threats. In fact, the only thing she regretted was that she hadn't sucker-punched him harder.

..:..:..:..

"Draco, you didn't reply to any of my letters this summer."

He had been making his way to his new dormitory, when Pansy had somehow managed to track him down and leech onto his arm. There was no avoiding her now, Draco thought to himself irritably. He continued walking at a fast pace, hoping to shake her off.

"I was busy," he replied gruffly, trying to shrug her off his shoulder; she simply held on tighter as a response. Dragging her along with him, Draco made his way down the empty corridor, her whiney voice bouncing off the stone walls.

With a surprising amount of hidden strength, Pansy caught him off guard by shoving him against the wall. "Well, let me show you what you missed," she cooed softly, brushing a delicate hand over his sex. Her green eyes flashed mischievously. Giving him a coy smile, she proceeded to lower herself onto her knees, her school robes pooling around her lithe form. Slowly, she began to undo his belt, the sound of his buckle clinking quietly. Feeling his semi-erection through his school trousers, she looked up and gave him a smug smile.

He grabbed a fistful of her sleek, ebony curls and tugged her head forward. "Hurry up, you tease," he snarled. He was in no mood to be toyed with, and it annoyed him that Pansy thought she was in control. The only reason he was letting her do this, was because he knew for a fact she was a good cocksucker, and it was too much of a hassle to throw off her advances anyway—the girl was virtually unshakeable.

Scowling slightly, Pansy took him into her hot mouth, swirling her tongue around his shaft. As she took more of him in, he felt her teeth lightly graze his underside. He winced and repressed a moan, closing his eyes as she continued to suck him off. It had been too long since he last got off.

Fingers still tangled in her glossy locks, he looked down at her. Pansy was looking back up at him with what she hoped was a seductive gaze; but he had already seen right through to the desperation that flickered behind her green orbs.

He suddenly felt disgusted with her. Closing his eyes once more, he tried to imagine someone else. Daphne Greengrass, spreading those long legs of hers—his father's old secretary bending over a desk—fucking a Ravenclaw seventh year on the quidditch pitch—Granger kneeling before him—

Draco moaned loudly, and Pansy sped up in encouragement, swirling her tongue around his length.

Granger was kneeling at his feet, her robes pooled in a dungeon corner, her shirt torn and dirty. She was trying to stand up—he shoved her back down. She was looking up at him defiantly, brown eyes enraged, throwing an insult at him. He laughed and backhanded her, sending her flying on her back in front of him. Her attire was ripped, revealing bits and pieces of her curvy figure. He ripped her shirt further, backhanding her a second time as she tried in vain to stop him. Pathetic piece of filth. Granger crying—Granger admitting he was better, admitting she was a dirty little mudblood whore—on her knees, tears streaming down her pretty, dirty face, begging, then taking his head between her luscious pink lips—

Draco threw his head back and groaned something unintelligible as his orgasm shook threw him.

As soon as he finished, Pansy abruptly pulled away, looking up at him. "_What_ did you just say?" She asked, disbelievingly.

"What?"

"You just called me a mudblood!" She snarled, standing up angrily. Draco had never seen her this furious, and although he didn't particularly care about her feelings, he was a bit alarmed at the accusation.

"Don't be ridiculous, Pans," he replied emotionlessly, pulling up his pants and regaining his composure.

She looked at him uncertainly, her eyes narrowing. "I know what I heard. And everyone else will too— I knew you had a thing for that jumped-up mudblood! Merlin, the way you were staring at her tonight! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU—"

She was up against the wall in a split second, swallowing her anger as she stared into his cold eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about, Pansy. Now go clean yourself up, it's past curfew."

And then he was walking down the corridor, leaving her shaking against the stone wall. She wasn't stupid enough to tell the other students what had just passed between the two of them, but she wasn't going to let this slip by as though nothing had happened— Pansy knew what she heard, and she wasn't happy about it. Not one bit.

..:..:..:..

"FUCK!"

Draco sent a chair flying across the room, enraged with himself. He had just gotten off thinking of a mudblood—the ugly little Gryffidor Headgirl, who ironically was probably sleeping like a baby across the hall, no more than twenty feet away. Collapsing on the cool, silky sheets of his four-poster bed, he covered his face with his hands and lay there quietly for a moment.

There was nothing special about the mudblood; muddy brown hair, muddy brown eyes, a wretched personality and a shrill voice that practically made his ears bleed in class. She was entirely average, he convinced himself; unattractively so. He rolled over and off the bed, standing up and walking back through the door. He needed to clear his head, he decided. He needed fresh air, and something to distract himself from the annoying little wench who had managed to consume his mind ever since she confronted him on the train that day.

The night air was brisk, the beginning smell of autumn decay sharpening his senses as he neared the border of the forest. He had gotten off on Granger's misery and subservience, he rationalized, as he made his way through the brambles and brush. And it only made sense—the bitch had been a pain in his side all day. It was if she existed to annoy him, to infuriate him to bits on end. Therefore, it was completely understandable for a pureblood such as himself to get off on the filthy mudblood's suffering. As far as Draco was concerned, he had nothing to worry about.

He came to a stop in front of a giant oak tree, the branches gnarled and long, groping the lacquer sky menacingly. The tree was unmistakably the one they had told him of. Draco approached it cautiously, resting a hand against the worn, ancient bark and murmuring an incantation under his breath.

The splitting of wood was sharp against his ears as a doorway opened before him. A dark passageway winded down into the damp underground, the smell of wet earth overwhelming his senses as he took his first step forward. He had found it. With one last look behind his shoulder, Draco quickly ducked inside.


End file.
